


House Of Memories

by orphan_account



Series: Always a Hurricane [4]
Category: Bandom, I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band), Panic! at the Disco, The Brobecks
Genre: A lot of happy moments, Anxiety, Domestic, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Panic Attacks, Plotless, brallon, funny moments, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-02-22 22:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13176252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Domestic brallon oneshots. These can be read as associated with the series “Always a Hurricane” in which Dallon Weekes is suffering with his mental health in an almost ongoing battle, with his lover Brendon Urie as help alongside. They can also be read as completely separate! It's up to you.





	1. Two Dollar Store Tramps

“Come with me to the grocery store,” I beg him, pulling his arm.

“But it’s your turn,” he argues, reading a magazine about some sort of scales in music. I don’t read music, I just play it, so I can’t empathise with him right now.

“I know it’s my turn,” I tell him, “but I don’t feel like I can go alone today.” I start to fiddle with my fingers.

“Why?” He asks, still not looking up from that damn magazine.

“I just feel a bit... _off_ , that’s all.” I carry on picking at my nails.

Finally, he looks at me and nods, “Okay, I’ll come.”

I look up, smile, pick up the car keys from the dining room table and tell him that I’m driving.

-

We get to the store and he smiles at me like a big kid. I don’t bother asking him why because I know I won’t be getting an answer. All I can do is hope that he doesn’t pull off a stunt _too_ ridiculous.

I pick up a basket by the entrance and continue walking with him beside me. When it comes to shopping, I have a pretty simple method of going down every single aisle and picking stuff up as I go along. The first item I place in the basket is a loaf of brown bread. Brendon puts in a loaf of white bread and I ask, “What... do you want to get both?”

“Well, you like brown bread and I like white bread, so... sure.” He shrugs.

We carry on walking again until I stop by the chips. Before I can even choose, Brendon picks up a huge multipack of Cheetos and chucks it into the basket. I’m starting to think we should have gotten a trolley, instead.

The next place I stop is by the jars and Brendon, yet again, picks something up and puts it in the basket without even saying anything. I say, “Do you want to just take the basket?” rolling my eyes.

“Sure,” he replies and takes it. His eyes scan the shelves and stop right at the top where the best jelly is. Even I’d struggle reaching that. “Oh dear, I guess you’re going to have to lift me up.” The cheeky motherfucker sighs.

“You’re kidding, right?” I glare at him.

“If we’re going to get jelly, then we can only get the best kind!” He states matter-of-factly. “Look, it’s on offer, too!” He cries out like a kid on Christmas.

“You have a net worth of, what, four million dollars?” I remind him.

He tilts his head and lifts an eyebrow. He says, “Just lift me up so I can get the jelly, already."

“I do question your age sometimes, Bren,” I tell him as I give in, wrapping my arms around his waist to lift him. He reaches for the jar, meanwhile I blush and look around to see if anybody’s watching. To my delight, six people are down the aisle, and two of which are watching.

When I bring his feet back to the ground, he leans down to drop the jar into the the basket that's on the floor and I take this as an opportunity to whisper in his ear a “fuck. you.” to which he grins at.

He carries on through the rest of the shop picking up shit that we don’t need and I’ll safely assume that he does the same thing when he’s on his own.

Honestly, I’d much rather go shopping with the annoying, sly little Brendon Urie than go alone and anxious.


	2. He’s a Handsome Man

“Just going to the toilet,” I tell him as I get up from beneath his legs that were across my lap.

“Do you want me to pause it?” he asks and I shake my head - it’s only To Kill A Mockingbird; I’ve watched and read it multiple times.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs.

I walk towards the toilets and fill my mind with entertaining thoughts. My favourite idea generated from my pee brain is that Brendon has a crush on Atticus Finch. He does get wrapped up in films, but whenever Atticus does something right, which is a lot, Brendon gets all happy and excited.

I walk back into the living room and look at him. He’s sat up with his eyes fixed on the screen. I sit myself back down where I was before and fall back into the comfort of him. His head on my chest; my arm around his waist.

After living with him for long enough, I’ve learned how to get him to watch a movie while taking his attention span (or lack thereof) into account. When we first watch something, we watch it in parts and once we’ve watched all the parts, we watch the whole thing because Brendon says once he knows the storyline and has watched it all, he can watch something in full without getting too bored. It’s not all in aid of him that we watch things in such a fashion, however. Sometimes a panic attack or derealisation episode will creep up on me, or my mind will wonder into a whole world of irrational thoughts, consequently causing us to have to turn off the tv so I can focus on taking some deep breaths and talk it through.

It’s funny how I’m thinking about all of that right now; my mind is once again wondering - just with _okay_ thoughts this time. I look over to Brendon and see he’s smiling at Scout and Dill’s innocent, naïve conversation they’re sharing. “You fancy Atticus, don’t you,” I tease.

He turns his head that’s resting on my chest to face me. He pulls a cute questioning face, raising an eyebrow flirtatiously more than anything else. I laugh and kiss his forehead.

“He is a little hot, I’m not going to lie,” he admits.

“Bren, he’s got to be at least fifty.” I sigh and shake my head.

He sits up and turns his body to face me, now clearly intrigued to have this conversation. “Doesn’t mean he isn’t a beautiful man,” he protests.

“But he’s old, and that’s creepy.”

“He’s a respectable, kind hearted man who’s hair falls rather nicely,” I’m told.

“He’s balding,” I deadpan.

“He has a nice and deep voice and maybe I like my men a little older. I mean... you’re six years older than me.” He shrugs. I don’t know if I’m supposed to be offended.

“You sound like Lana Del Ray.” I laugh.

“She’s cool.” He shrugs again. This boy is indifferent to almost everything. He has no shame and I love it.

“Well, good on you.” I smile and he smiles back.


	3. Put My Heart On My Chest

Brendon takes his last steps down the stairs and when he reaches the floor, he coughs unnaturally.

“Um… yes?” I ask.

He furrows his brows and walks over to me, being impossibly slow. Stopping with bout three feet between us, he looks down at the floor and says “I have something to get off my chest.”

Oh shit, great. It’s usually me dropping these kinds of bombs.

I bend my knees slightly so I can try to get a better look at his face and ask with caution, “What, Bren?”

He lifts his head slowly and raises a brow. He pulls off his shirt and suddenly he’s gone from serious to seductive.

Before I can fit in any dialogue, he pushes his lips up against mine, kissing me and gripping onto my body. I hold him even closer, spreading my coarse, strong hands across the soft bare skin of his back. I kiss back and feel around the bones and muscles of the top of his back and massage him slightly.

I pull away to breathe and ask “What was it that you wanted to get off your chest?”

His shoulders tense as he giggles, “My shirt.”

I face-palm and shake my head. He’s quick to pull my hand away and occupy my face with his own again.

He starts by biting my bottom lip, tilting his chin down and away, only to come back in again with his tongue, swirling from the top right of my gums to the top left and back to the roof of his own mouth. I take this as a chance to kiss back by hitting the bottom of his mouth with my own tongue, lifting his up and tilting his head back. I continue the kisses down his chin, neck and chest while feeling his muscles and he sighs.

Only good things can come from your husband taking off his shirt.


	4. Put It On Pause Until The Moment Was Right

“Hey Bren, could you please pause the TV?” I tap him gently on the leg.

He picks up the remote and presses the middle button. I watch him closely as he places it down on the arm of the sofa. “Everything okay?” He asks me.

“I feel anxious and I don’t know why.” I look at him, searching for some kind of reason.

“Okay, it’s okay.” He adjusts himself in the seat to sit up a little better. “Have you taken a deep breath yet?” he asks.

I shake my head.

“Okay, well, remember to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Just focus on that.” He takes my hand.

I close my eyes and breathe in as slow as I can. My hands start to tremble, so Brendon holds on tighter, which helps. I let out the breath and open my eyes. “It feels worse now,” I tell him.

“It’s going to before it gets better,” he reassures me. “Would it be better if we went to a different room or went out somewhere?”

I think about where would be best to kill off the nerves and the only place I can think of is the studio in our house. “Maybe we could jam out in the studio?” I suggest.

“Sure.” He smiles.


	5. Let's Kill Tonight

“Babe, Bren. Why is there a nerf gun on the table?” I call out to Brendon, wherever he is in the house, receiving no reply. “Bren…” I call out a little louder.

I have no clue where the fuck his voice is coming from, but I can hear him muffle and gradually get louder. Suddenly, I hear him shout, “The time to die… is NOW.” A cupboard door whacks open and there he is and FUCK that stings! That little son of a bitch just shot me.

“Hey!” I shout and drop my arms beside me.

“Come on then, pussy. Fight back!” He climbs out of the cupboard and spits. Standing up straight, he now aims the gun at me with both of his hands, closing one eye. Meanwhile discreetly reaching for the gun, I try to make my body appear still. According to the stinging bullet that just caught my skin, _I ain’t slick_. I grab the gun and fumble with it, trying to avoid Brendon’s serial shooting at the same time.

When he runs out of bullets, I finally fit my hand around the gun and hover my finger right above the trigger. I look back up to Brendon to see him turning the nose of the gun, popping in as many bullets as he can in the holes. I aim a rapid fire at him and he drops his gun. He picks it up as fast as he can and gives up adding any more bullets.

Now, we’re both firing at each other with plenty of bullets. He starts to run up closer to me, automatically making me run away. Fuck, he’s got tactics. I don’t know shit. Just run, Dallon. Just run. And shoot back. Good idea. Don’t just keep running and forget to shoot back.

I manage to get my speed up once I’m upstairs and he loses me. Rushing around the corner into our bedroom, I chuck myself into the large storage ottoman Brendon and I have at the foot of our bed. Plastic cuts into my side, but I can’t see what it is because I’m in complete darkness.

In a sing song voice, I hear him call out, “Dallon. Where are you? I’m going to find you.” We’ll see about that.

The sound of his footsteps completely disappears all of a sudden, which I’m assuming is supposed to be a tactic.

Faint tiptoes can now be heard coming closer to my hiding, so I get the gun in the right position, ready to shoot, should he find me.

On cue, he opens the box, but his gun is pointing down at nothing. He jumps out of his skin and I shoot at him continuously. He’s quick to join in again.

Over the sound of both of our guns shooting and the odd wince and gasp from each other’s pain, he shouts, “I was going to hide there, you motherfucker!”

“Oh yeah,” I reply, “and how was that going to work? OW!”

“You’d give up hiding first.”

“Oh really?” I raise my eyebrows and stand up, still inside the storage box. I step out and continue to shoot him until we both run out of bullets.

“Fuck,” I whisper. He gets the last three shots at me that all cause me to wince and my body to fold into itself. When he’s finished, he lets out a wicked, but beautiful laugh and I grin.

I pull him into my arms and lock lips with him. Pulling away, I grin again and the corners of his lips rise to match me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to @clean-prompts on Tumblr for answering my ask, providing me with the dialogue prompt that inspired this fic. ;) I haven't ever written a silly/crackfic type thing before, so I hope you enjoyed.
> 
> \- Nicole xx


	6. Lately it seems like everybody's sick, everybody's dying

“You’re wearing my sweater,” I hear him say as he comes into our room. I’ve got my back to him. Maybe he won’t notice. He laughs and the bed dips. He’s next to me. The room is fucking spinning.

 

With one finger, he turns my head by the chin to face his, as though he was about to kiss me. However, he doesn’t. His eyes slightly widen as they take in my pale face and runny nose. “Woah, do you feel okay?” he asks.

 

I shake my head, but I can’t talk. I can’t. My throat is so dry that it’s painful to open my mouth or swallow. Whether it’s the fear or the flu causing this, I will not know.

 

The blissful brush of his cold fingers blesses my forehead and I raise my hand to keep them there for as long as the relief will last. “I have a feeling this isn’t just an anxiety thing then…” he says.

 

I pick up the water from the bedside table and bring it to my lips. I gather up the courage to let it slip through and run down my throat. I have to drink this if I want to be able to talk to him. Just a _little_ water won’t cause the dreaded… the dreaded… thing that I can barely bring myself to think about, but have no other choice than to do so. No, it won’t cause that, I’m sure.

 

I fucking hope.

 

Placing the glass back down, I say, “I think… I think I might have the flu. You might want to stay away.”

 

“Stay away from you? My poor gorgeous husband? You must be out of your mind.” He hugs me. I hesitate for a second, but give in. I need a hug so bad right now.

 

“Bren… I’m scared,” I admit while still in his arms.

 

He pulls away and frowns. “Why?” he asks.

 

“I’m scared of throwing up.”

 

“Oh God,” he says.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“We’re going to have a great next few days, then,” he laughs. I laugh too. It’s bitter, desperate comedy, but it’ll do.

 

“I’m sorry, B,” I say. “I make everything so fucking difficult.”

 

“No, it’s okay. I get it, you know? Plus, I’ve been with you for a _long_ time now and we’re married and all that and you know, in the _contract_ it said: in sickness and health and blah blah…”

 

“Hey! Is that all our marriage means to you?” I gasp and pull a dramatic pose with my hand on my forehead and my head tilted back. He snorts and laughs. Success.

 

“Okay, but all jokes aside, looking after you when you’re down and everything is one of my favourite things. You’re just so fragile and pretty and _real,_ especially for the tall, funny man that you also are. But anyway, you make me feel like a better person, so I’m going to shut the fuck up now and go get you a bowl to throw up in.”

 

My heart speeds up. “Great,” I say through gritted teeth. I sit on my hands to stop them from shaking.

 

Mr. Sherlock Holmes over here obviously notices and says, “And, hey, remember the breathing techniques we went through for when you feel anxious. It’ll help, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my beautiful brallon readers. I hope you’re all doing well. I decided that I would make a final addition to the fanfiction that I’ve been writing and adding to for the longest time. These chapters are all to be taken individually and have no plot. They all link to the circumstances and character traits of the series “Always a Hurricane”, therefore explaining why I chose to link it to the series rather than creating a separate fic altogether. These oneshots have more meaning when connected to this story, in my opinion.
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support along the journey that my writing has been through. Looking back, it has certainly progressed and used to be quite shit, so thank you for sticking around despite it!
> 
> I could go on, but I’m sure you’d all rather I wouldn’t.
> 
> \- Nicole xx


End file.
